Androids Are Assholes
by Hawkbelly
Summary: You went to bed without a second though; how would you have known this night would be any different from the rest? If you had know, you wouldn't have fallen asleep in your own bed. Hell, you wouldn't have fallen asleep in that house! But the damage is already done, and now you know that androids are assholes.


**(HEY. HEY YOU. YEAH, YOU. TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK. _IF YOU DON'T WANT ME TO ABANDON THIS STORY_ , THEN TELL ME THAT PLEASE. I have a lot of hobbies, and this _will_ be left to perish if I feel no one is enjoying it.)**

Mer, I'mah gonna just post a bunch of my stories on here, starting with this one that was created back in July of this year! Yuh, a while back indeed.

btw the first paragraph is my night in a nutshell. Yay, sleeping...

 **SUMMARY:  
** **YOU are one lucky person. Or maybe the right word is cursed. Whichever it is, you aren't certain. Nonetheless, you've been granted the impossible: a taste of the future (ie androids). Sounds ridiculous, right? It's not. You weren't even chosen for this experience. You're just an after-result of random chance, and he's under your mercy. Sort of. He could kill you right now if he wanted, and you feel that deep down that urge is there in his coding. The point is that you now have a gruiling task, and he's the spotlight of the whole conundrum. But first you gotta find out what to do.  
** **And so it begins...**

* * *

You lay in the coldness of your dark room with the only salvation being your comforter. You're having trouble falling asleep, and you can't figure out how to remedy your predicament. You toss and turn, tangling yourself in your sheets while you fail at keeping your mind from staying active. Your thoughts jump from what you did today and how you could've improved on some things, to your anxieties over what tomorrow might hold for you and whether or not you'll be able to handle it.

You figure you'll eventually wear yourself out with all of this thinking.

At some point in the night, your eyes open without an immediately noticeable reason, and you momentarily ponder over whether you had awoken from actual sleep, or had been disrupted from a simple doze. You save that decision for later in favor of finding out why you supposedly woke up.

Your bleary eyes quickly center on your alarm clock's glaring red numbers through the dark. The numbers are blinking as if the power has gone out, and you speculate that whatever had caused said power to cut off could be the reason your body felt the need to snap you out of whichever mindset you had been entranced in. Your mind is slow to process this as you stare at the blinking lights, before something else catches your eye.

Your grip on what you'd been sure was reality is suddenly being recalled for possible faulty production as you squint into the dark to find a pair of glowing red dots just beside your alarm clock – the colors of the clock and the orbs are uncannily alike. For a moment, with not quite clear eyesight, you feign ignorance in turn for reassurance – you settle on the notion that your parents had put something electronic beside your alarm clock while they had been visiting.

Except there is no place to put something alongside your alarm clock.

Just as you're about to settle on the idea that your parents had put a new shelf there for the mysterious electronic device, your eyesight clears enough to pinpoint evidence that altogether shatters your theory. In the ominous red blinking glow of your alarm clock is a silhouette not unlike a human's. In a split second you also notice faint glowing red lines travelling in both vertical and horizontal directions situated randomly upon the otherwise black humanoid silhouette. Your mind reaches an instant conclusion; this is RoboSatan.

You go for the scream of a lifetime as you keep your eyes trained on the literal Satan spawn. However, before you can open your mouth more than half an inch, your eyesight goes dark and a warm pressure suddenly overcomes your mouth. For a moment, your mind conjures up the fear that you'd just developed some kind of illness that hinders eyesight and some control over your mouth. However, that idea slinks away as you become aware of the dulled blinking of your alarm clock in the background of the silhouette now directly in front of you, and horror steadily becomes a primary feeling. In a split second you recognize the dual red orbs, which you quickly label as eyes, that are now floating just above your face; it must be lighting up your face, you think offhandedly. Alongside this note is the secondary observation of the glowing red lines placed about at random on RoboSatan's body, and they remind you of veins.

After said split second passes, you are overwhelmed with the need to get away, and you act on this without hesitation. Sadly, however, you find that you have only the ability to struggle, because this evil being seems to have known your intentions and had straddled you before you could so much as lurch out of his shadow. You also take note that the (strangely) warm (strange because metal robots, but not really because Satan) pressure on your mouth had been his hand.

Your legs are kicking spastically and aimlessly behind the devil-powered machine, and your hands push against his chest and shoulders while occasionally throwing a fist or two (which earns some throbbing in said hands). He seems unfazed, unsurprisingly, because he's not just a robot, he's RoboSatan.

Despite your internal insistence that you are currently becoming acquainted with RoboSatan (and on the side you hope RoboJesus comes to save your unholy ass), you only become hyper aware of your certain death when a second warm hand wraps itself around your throat, steadily and slowly adding pressure. Your arms are suddenly as uncoordinated as your legs, and your legs proceed to flail ten times more spastically than before. The growing pressure on your throat becomes your only focus-point. Your sudden increase in activity immediately begins to slow as your thoughts are thinned out with panic alongside your supply of oxygen. Just before nothingness settles over your existence, you tell yourself you are no more and proceed to accept your fate just as eternal darkness sets over your diminishing existence.

xxx

Upon regarding some form of awareness, your first thought is that you are surprisingly not dead, and then you proceed to wonder why your first thought and feeling involves the luck of being alive (there is no luck, you quickly add, only mysteries). Your answers come through retrieved memories accompanied by a renewed sense of terror and a possible need for fresh underwear. With your newfound sense of fear, you snap yourself into full awareness and jolt forward with the intent of gaining some defensive ground and your bearings. Instead, your head is suddenly swimming and your eyesight swirls so horribly that you proceed to vomit off to your right. Immediately after emptying what little occupied your stomach, you go limp with exhaustion and drop your head back onto the cushiony surface it had previously been laid upon. A groan addles your head, and you decide to do your best to refrain from allowing any more noise to cross through your voicebox. You decide that sleep would be a definite reservoir, screw whatever you had been doing a moment ago. You can't even remember what it was.

And then you hear it. There's an underlying electric echo to an otherwise unfamiliar humanoid voice. You don't catch what it says, because your brain is buzzing too much to process anything outside of fear and reacting accordingly to the fact that someone has invaded your apartment; you were already scrambling out of your bed when the first utterance had met your ears. Unfortunately, due to your previously scrambled brain, all you manage to do is get tangled up in your sheets and fall face first onto your floor (which feels unusually wet and smells rather nasty) where you squirm frantically like a nightcrawler that's been touched. The pounding in your head followed by the clenching of your stomach is what ultimately freezes your uncoordinated flailing, and the sudden need to vomit is the most prominent need in that moment. Fortunately, just as you're about to blow chunks, the rattle of plastic precedes what you assume is an opened grocery sack being place around your mouth.

Although this prevents the mother of all messes made by stomach acid, which may as well be lava going through your throat, it reminds you of your previous unhindered reign of puke. This is then connected to the nasty smell and unusual wetness you had met with your face upon falling out of bed, and you dry heave a few times upon this revelation. 'Oh my God...!' You shout in your head as you suffer in moderate silence. Finally, as your confetti fest slows to a stop, your mind falls into the most important question; who on Earth is holding the plastic bag attached to your face?!

As you greedily gulp down fresh air with the occasional leftovers spit into the bag, you begin dreading the moment you'll have to face the stranger in your house, and frantically sift through any possible escape plans. When you finally feel you have enough control over your bodily functions and enough air in your lungs to breathe somewhat normally (minus the mini panic attack you're having), you sit back and lean against your bed with your head drooping. You then realize that you'd kept your eyes closed throughout that entire ordeal, so you hesitantly crack open your eyes enough to stare at your lap; you really don't want to look. For a minute you sit, unmoving as you debate on whether you should address the stranger in your house or simply "faint" and hope they go away.

Your decision is made the instant your limited line of sight is invaded by pure black fingers that seem to be reaching for your shoulder. You jerk to the right to get away, causing your vision to spiral once more, and when your nightstand abruptly meets the side of your head, white splotches mix into the array of colors bombarding your eyes, and suddenly you're on LSD. There are too many colors to keep track of: vanilla, pale green, forest green, black, purple, dark blue, white, gold, bright orange, maroon, cherry red, dark brown, and the rainbow swirling through each other.

For a second your focus is directed to the sudden presence of a warm and soft point alongside the horrid aching bruise on your head. A few more seconds go by as the soft warmth of the point on your head spreads through your entire mind before moving down your spine and pressing through every nerve in your body, spreading all the way to the tips of your toes and fingers. Then your chest swells with the feeling, and you no longer feel anything else. The warmth becomes the only thing in existence, and as you're fully wrapped in the soft and warm blanket, you begin to float away into an otherworldly bliss. Calm, warm, and secure is all you feel, and you want to stay here forever.

You never get what you want.

Your chest is suddenly exploding with a searing heat that burns through the chilled stillness residing in your nerves as if you had been struck by lightning. Your nerves resemble the underground roots of a tree that have caught fire.

Your senses suddenly bombard your awareness and you feel overwhelmed by the stimuli. Your chest feels tight and your lungs are reigned in fire as you feel yourself coughing and gasping, and yet you can't seem to get enough air. All of your muscles are spasming and your nerves are still on fire. Your head is pounding and your eyesight is extremely blurry. You can barely make out a voice, but it sounds like you're underwater - you briefly wonder if you had nearly drowned.

As your body begins to calm down, your eyesight clears enough to see a blurry black shape with bits of red mixed in hovering over you, and your ears catch a few garbled syllables. Your eyebrows furrow with frustration as you urge your ears and eyes to make a snappy recovery; your eyes make their recovery first. You proceed to regret urging such a thing when your eyes fixate on an all too familiar figure.

RoboSatan.

* * *

This first chapter is your thoughts under the spell of nighttime and sleepyheads. Sleep-depraved thoughts. Was it good? I hope so, 'cause I can't tell anymore! :D

 **HEY. HEY YOU. YEAH, YOU. TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK. _IF YOU DON'T WANT ME TO ABANDON THIS STORY_ , THEN TELL ME THAT PLEASE. I have a lot of hobbies, and this _will_ be left to perish if I feel no one is enjoying it.**


End file.
